


All For The Golf

by priorwalter



Series: Andreil Week 2019 [8]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, golf au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 05:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priorwalter/pseuds/priorwalter
Summary: Neil picked at his already-peeling sunburns in the locker room of his high school in Millport, Arizona. He had forgotten sunscreen before the golf tournament — again — and was sorely regretting it, though he’d gone through much worse for the sport.He was surprised a school in a dying town like Millport even had a golf team— it was a sport for rich elites. According to Coach Hernandez, someone’s parents had donated a few sets of golf clubs to the school years ago. This was the only reason Neil could play; his mother would have rathered him dead than having his own set of clubs, no matter how much he yearned for it.**You read that right. It's a golf AU.





	All For The Golf

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Kev, Nea, Kenny, and Angel from the andreil week discord, and that one night where we spent too many hours headcanoning about a golf AU. Here it finally is, guys.
> 
> If the dialogue sounds familiar, I ripped a lot of it straight from the book with edits to make it golf, so credit to Nora for that. Everything else is me, though.

Neil picked at his already-peeling sunburns in the locker room of his high school in Millport, Arizona. He had forgotten sunscreen before the golf tournament — again — and was sorely regretting it, though he’d gone through much worse for the sport.

He was surprised a school in a dying town like Millport even had a golf team— it was a sport for rich elites. According to Coach Hernandez, someone’s parents had donated a few sets of golf clubs to the school years ago. This was the only reason Neil could play; his mother would have rathered him dead than having his own set of clubs, no matter how much he yearned for it. 

A sport like golf didn’t really require locker rooms, but Neil always showered after practice or a tournament because it was less suspicious than breaking in. Coach Hernandez never commented on it, but Neil knew he was aware that something was up. If his prodding about Neil’s parents hadn’t clued him in, the pitying looks and easy acceptance of Neil’s various excuses would have. Usually, though, Hernandez left him alone, which was why Neil was so confused when he was waiting for Neil after he got out of the shower. 

“I didn’t see your parents in the crowd tonight,” Hernandez said slowly, giving Neil a significant look. 

“They’re out of town,” Neil said.

“Still or again?” When Neil didn’t respond, Hernandez sighed. “I thought they’d make an exception for the last tournament of the year.” 

“They wouldn’t have wanted to see the tournament today anyway.” Millport had been thoroughly crushed. “They didn’t miss much.”

“Not yet, maybe,” Hernandez said. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Without hesitation, Neil grabbed his duffel bag stood up to run. The presence of a large stranger in the doorway, however, prevented him from getting far. His tribal tattoos briefly distracted Neil from the thick file in his hand. He looked intent on Neil; that expression in a man his father’s age made him shiver. There had been no news about any newcomers in the past few days. Millport’s nosiness had failed him miserably, though Neil supposed it was his fault for relying on it. 

“I don’t know you,” Neil said finally. 

“He’s from a university. He came to see you play today,” Hernandez explained. 

“Bullshit,” Neil snapped. “No one recruits from Millport, especially not for golf.” The golf team at Millport wasn’t even competitive. It was a recreational team with six people, including Neil. 

Hernandez sent Neil a warning look. “He’s here because I sent him your file. He put a note out saying his team had unexpectedly lost a player and needed one more to meet NCAA standards, and I figured it was worth a shot. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if anything would come of it and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Neil stared. “You can’t be serious.”

“Very serious, and very out of time,” the man said. “Coach Hernandez says you still haven’t chosen a school for the fall, and we need another player. It works out perfectly. All you have to do is sign the dotted line and you’re mine for five years.”

He tossed the file onto the bench beside Neil. Neil considered flipping through it, but what would be the point? Neil Josten would be nonexistent in six weeks. Signing with a college golf team meant he would be in the spotlight. No matter how much he loved the sport, would it really be worth a rematch with his father?

For a long moment, Neil hated himself for ever joining Millport’s golf team. He knew that no one would take any notice of him in a town with only nine hundred residents. Or, he had thought so. Now, he was being faced with a one-way ticket to a future, something that was an impossibility for people like him and he had to turn it down. It hurt beyond words, the thought of walking away from the only thing that was keeping him afloat since he ran aground in Millport after his mother’s death. 

“Please go away,” he said.

The man sighed. “I know it’s a bit sudden, but I really do need an answer tonight. The Committee’s been hounding me since Janie got locked up.”

Neil’s eyes widened. “Palmetto State University. The Foxes.”

Coach David Wymack looked surprised at how quickly Neil put it together. “You saw the news.”

Neil didn’t respond. The Foxes were a ragtag group of rejects— golf wasn’t even a team sport, but the Foxes still managed to ruin their chances at glory with their frankly violent isolationist tendencies. Wymack’s decision to turn the Foxhole Court into a sort of halfway house for golfers from broken homes was heroic but stupid, in Neil’s opinion. The Foxes were the joke of collegiate golf, notorious for their dead-last rankings every year. A new captain had recently improved the team slightly, but they were still pitiful. 

Remembering national champion Kevin Day’s presence on the Foxes was the last nail in the coffin for Neil. He said, “You can’t be here.”

Wymack replied, “Yet here I stand. Need a pen?”

“No, I’m not playing for you.”

“I misheard you.”

“You signed Kevin.”

“And Kevin’s signing you, so—”

Neil bolted, unwilling to hear the rest. The blood roaring in his ears was not quite enough to drown out Hernandez’s startled exclamation. He didn’t look behind him; all that mattered was that he escaped. Neil Josten would no longer be real once he got out of the school. He would leave Millport and never touch a golf club again.

Neil wasn’t fast enough. 

By the time he realized he wasn’t alone, it was too late for him to stop. A shiny silver golf club glittered in the artificial lights as the stranger took a swing. The metal slammed into him hard enough that he collapsed onto the ground, unable to breathe. He’d puke if he could, but his body could do no more than struggle to regain his breath. For a few long moments, Neil was irrationally convinced he was going to die before he finally heaved a breath into his battered lungs. He coughed so hard it hurt, nearly choking until he regained his breath. He glared up at his assailant.

It wasn’t difficult to recognize him as Andrew Minyard, a deadly force both on the golf course and off. He was five foot even and as dangerous as a bomb: self destructive and keen on taking everyone who gets too close down with him. Perhaps what he was most famous for, though, was not his antipsychotic medication or his three-year stint in juvie: it was the fact that he turned down the Edgar Allan Ravens, the greatest NCAA golf team in the history of the sport. He was the only person to ever do so. It was a mystery why he turned them down in favour of the Foxes, though many speculated it was because Wymack was also willing to sign his brother and cousin, Aaron Minyard and Nicholas Hemmick.

Andrew was blamed for Kevin Day’s recent transfer to the Foxes. Kevin Day was Riko’s number two. Riko and Kevin were hailed as the sons of golf, raised in Evermore to live, breathe, and die for the sport. When a skiing accident shattered Kevin’s right hand, he left the Ravens to become an assistant coach to the Foxes. The Ravens’ rabid fans inexplicably linked this to Andrew Minyard’s rejection of their team. Neil investigated the rumours enough, desperate to find out what about Minyard caught Kevin’s eye. It was disorienting to see him face to face. 

“Fuck you,” Neil said. “Whose club did you steal?”

“Borrow,” Andrew corrected, and tossed it at him. “Here you go.”

Hernandez, finally having caught up to Neil, cried, “Neil, are you okay?”

“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” Wymack said, standing between Andrew and Neil. Andrew backed off to give Neil space and put his hands up, taking Wymack’s silent warning. “He break anything?”

Neil shook his head. He knew very well what broken ribs feel like, and Andrew hadn’t hit him that hard. “I’m fine. Coach, I’m leaving. Let me go.”

“We’re not done,” Wymack said. At Hernandez’s suspicious look, he added, “Give us a minute?”

“I’ll be right out back,” Hernandez assured Neil after a moment. His footsteps receded and the door swung shut with a creak.

“I’m not signing with you,” Neil snaps. 

“I paid to fly three people out here. The least you could do is give me five minutes, don’t you think?”

Neil felt his face pale; how could he have failed to realize what Andrew’s presence meant? Andrew Minyard doesn’t care about golf, but he’s leashed to Kevin Day. He fiddled with the strap on his duffle bag, trying to map a path toward the exit where Wymack or Andrew wouldn’t be able to stop him. “You didn’t bring him here.”

“Is that a problem?”

Neil couldn’t tell the truth, so he said weakly, “I’m not good enough to play golf on the same course as a champion.”

“True, but irrelevant,” a new voice said. Neil felt the breath escape from his chest. The last time he saw Kevin Day, his father had cut up a man in front of them. He looked the same: dark hair and piercing green eyes. The only difference now was that the tattoo on his cheek was permanent. Last time Neil saw him, Kevin and Riko were drawing the numbers on their faces every day. Kevin didn’t appear to recognize him, which Neil was grateful for; if Kevin hadn’t realized by now, he wouldn’t ever if Neil kept his appearance disguised. 

“What are you doing here?” Neil heard himself asking. He was poised to leave at the slightest provocation.

“We’re waiting for you to sign the contract,” Kevin said impatiently. “Stop wasting our time.”

“No,” Neil said. “There are a thousand golfers who’d jump at the chance to play with you. Why don’t you bother them?”

“We saw their files and we chose you,” Wymack argued.

“I won’t play with Kevin.”

“You will,” Kevin said.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t leaving without you. Kevin says we need you, and he’s right,” said Wymack.

“We should have thrown away your coach’s letter the second we opened it,” Kevin said. “Your file is deplorable and I don’t want someone with your inexperience on our course. It goes against everything we’re trying to do with the Foxes this year. Fortunately for you, your coach knew better than to send us your statistics. He sent us a tape so we could see you in action instead. You swing like you have everything to lose.”

Neil barely suppressed a sigh of relief. HIs inexperience. Kevin truly didn’t remember anything about Neil, not the little league golf tournaments, not his hole-in-one interrupted by that man’s murder.

“That’s why,” Neil whispered.

“That’s the only kind of golfer worth playing with.”

Wymack started talking about how useful it was that Millport was so unknown, but Neil tuned him out. The smart thing to do was bail. This was a terrible idea without taking Kevin into the equation: the Foxes were enough of a trainwreck to make it onto the news too frequently for comfort. If he stayed, he’d certainly be dead within months. His father was in jail, but his people weren’t. 

Still, if he signed, he would have the chance to have a real life for a while. He felt lost without his mother to guide him. He was running aimlessly, his only goal _somewhere else_. Golf gave him a purpose, a reason to live. It was the only thing that made him feel real. He stepped away from the others. “Golf,” he said. It tasted like a dream; it tasted like damnation.

Having Kevin on his team was an opportunity, he realized. If he stuck to him 24/7, he would know exactly when he started to become suspicious and he could leave before things got too messy. The thought comforted him. No matter what kind of contract he signed, he could just run at the drop of a hat. If he didn’t take this chance, he might never get to play golf again. The thought made him feel sick.

“Well?” Wymack asked.

His desire to play warred with the survival instincts ground into him by his mother, resulting in a panic so sudden Neil thought he wouldn’t be able to respond. “I have to talk to my mother,” Neil said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Your file says you’re nineteen,” Wymack replied. “Why? She’ll be happy for you.”

Neil shrugs. “Maybe. I still have to talk to her.” Neil was in fact eighteen, though he wasn’t about to tell Wymack that. 

“We can give you a drive home,” Wymack suggested. Neil shook his head. Wymack turned to Andrew and Kevin. “Go wait in the car.” 

Wymack asked about his parents and offered him a place to stay for the summer. It was all too much; his mother would kill him for even looking at Kevin Day. Now he was going to golf with him. He shivered at the thought; it was at once a dream and a nightmare. Wymack left him the contract to give to Hernandez on Monday. 

He ran all the way home, stopping to dry heave into some bushes. There was still some light left over because of the time of year and it made Neil’s sunburns sting, but he barely felt it. The contract in his bag felt like a golf club to the stomach, like a golf ball to the head; it was heavy enough to pull him down into his grave.

***

The Foxhole Course was no different from any other eighteen-hole golf course, except for the fact that it was decked out in orange. The bright colour was a stark contrast to the short green grass. Neil wanted to live there. It was a relief to see after the confusing mess with Nicky, Kevin, and the twin, but it filled him with dread at the same time: after one look at the course, he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave unless his hand was forced. 

“Oh,” Nicky said. “No wonder he chose you.”

Neil didn’t respond, too enraptured by the picture in front of him. His mother’s voice in his head was screaming at him, but it didn’t matter. His hands itched for a set of clubs. 

The Foxes were a mess of a team. Apparently, the rift in their team was the waterboy, Seth Gordon. He never gave anyone water when they needed it, so everyone was dehydrated and faint when it was their turn on the teeing ground. Still, Neil couldn’t believe he was signed on to an NCAA golf team; it was at once a dream and a nightmare. 

Andrew stared at him with unreadable eyes. They were dark and emotionless, lacking the usual mania. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Andrew was the one who picked him up from the airport. 

“Why are you off your meds?” Neil asked casually, looking away from Andrew back out at the fairway.

The others broke into an argument in hissing German, but Andrew just stared. He could have been imagining it, but he felt breathless, a phantom pain from being clubbed in the ribs; Neil couldn’t look away from him.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me at jonathansimz.tumblr.com. This is probably going to be a series because I think a golf AU is fucking hilarious. Remember how yesterday I said the Twilight AU wasn't even the most ridiculous fic I've written for andreil week? This is what I was talking about. Tell me what you thought!


End file.
